It’s rare for a first book to demonstrate the confidence and distinctive voice of Blood Hyphen. Through the publication of individual poems in journals over several years, readers have become aware of Kenny Williams as a strikingly original writer, but the range and depth of his achievement in this collection are remarkable. Williams handles big concerns—faith, hurricanes, history, the conundrum of the body—with sly humor, assurance, and poise, instantly establishing himself as a mature and memorable presence.

I read all about St.-Michel, the church / that floats above the tidal plain, but never went / to worship there. Henry Adams went to see it / and says he fell in love, and that makes it dangerous. / J. A. Baker –he loved everything there is to love / about the hawk. He might have been the greatest / lover ever, but I'll never know. I'll never read him. Where could I be that the church won't soar, the hawk / refuse to stoop? I was born a solipsist, for sure, / but died a lapwing, looking for grub / at the bottom of the unsuspecting sky.